


Stray

by AliFyre



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abuse, Addiction recovery, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Consensual Sex, Drug Addiction, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Time, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Prostitution, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut, Social Anxiety, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-25
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-11 01:52:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 20,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7870930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliFyre/pseuds/AliFyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tetsurou Kuroo has always been expected to live a perfect life. The son of a politician, he's beaten into line by his father to hide the secret that threatens his career. Kenma Kozume has never been on the "right path," pursued doggedly by anxiety and addiction since his youth. They find each other broken and scared, and learn it just might be okay to hope -- if only they can avoid getting ensnared in the corruption that lies just below the surface of their fragile world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When I found you (I was looking for a hooker)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE read the tags before reading, because they contain the trigger warnings. Just to reiterate the important ones: there's mentions of abuse, mentions of drug addiction, graphic descriptions of sex, and mentions of homophobia in this chapter. If any of these things make you uncomfortable, please proceed with caution. 
> 
> This fic is set in a fictional town in LA county, California, which has the highest concentration of Japanese-Americans in the US.
> 
> Many thanks to Katy (tumblr user @astralseed), my lovely artist for this work. I also owe a debt of gratitude to Kim, who helped me plot this fic in one of the earliest conversations of our friendship. Thank you to Christina as well, for beta-ing and getting excited about this fic. 
> 
> This fic is loosely inspired by the song "Lost Kitten" by metric, and the chapters will be titled accordingly.

It’s the last class of the day on a Friday, and Tetsurou isn’t sure he’s excited for the weekend. He shifts in his seat, wincing as the bruises on his back bump against the hard back of his chair. Self-conscious, he pulls his long sleeves down further on his arms and glances around him, checking to make sure no one saw the violet blooming on his wrists. He’s the only one in sleeves, and with good reason; the air is heavy with California heat and the scent of body odor. He's not sure if he resents the lack of air conditioning or climate change more. More than either of those, he resents the bruises.

Class is almost over and the hot air is full of soft chattering about weekend plans. The lecture hall is small and the desks are packed close together, making it impossible for him to avoid hearing his fellow students -- or smelling them. Tetsurou does his best to ignore both sounds and smells, preferring to get down the last bit of the lecture and put off the fact that he has to go  _ home _ soon -- home where there may be angry shouts and violent hands throwing him around. Home, where that  _ word _ will be spat in his face. 

Tetsurou is struggling to keep his breathing under control when he hears the  _ word _ again, not in the echoes of his memories but in the present, mere feet from his ears, “Nah man, Kenji won’t be joining us, he’s going to go be  _ gay _ tonight,” the man sitting behind him whispers conspiratorially to his neighbor. Tetsurou does his best not to go rigid at the sound of the familiar syllable. His attention, as always, is drawn by the word, and he does his best to be discreet as he listens into the conversation. 

“What does that even mean? Kenji isn’t gay, man.” The second voice sounds derisive, and Tetsurou wonders if it is possible for him to just disappear on the spot. Memories of the previous night bleed into his consciousness, and the bruises on his back throb. 

“I don’t know man, I saw him coming from behind the halfway house on the west side. It’s pretty much common knowledge that place is like a gay whore house. He had serious sex hair, I’m telling you.” Tetsurou’s eyebrows shoot up, and he begins to put his things away with hands that shake slightly. He hasn’t heard the  _ word _ three times in as many sentences without getting punched before. Zipping up his backpack, he pauses to rub a hand over the back of his neck, tugging up the back of his shirt to ensure the collar does not dip and reveal his secret. 

“Those are just rumors, you can’t seriously think…”

“I don’t think, I know. Why do you think Kenji has been so low on cash lately?” 

“Man, that’s fucked up.”

Chairs screech over linoleum, and the speakers get to their feet. Tetsurou waits until they’re safely out of earshot before releasing a sigh of relief and standing up himself. He flinches as he pulls on his backpack and hurries out of the classroom, his mind racing. He thinks back to last night, sitting at the kitchen table with an article about Proposition 8 and the history of marriage equality in California to highlight for class. His father stormed into his apartment, still dressed for court with critical eyes searching for something to be angry about. He remembers the  _ word _ being screamed in his face as his dad picked up the article and crumpled it. His back throbs under the weight of his backpack as he recalls how his father grabbed him by the arms and hauled him out of his chair; How he slammed him against the wall with enough force to take Tetsurou’s breath away again and again and  _ again _ . All over that goddamn  _ word _ .

It would make sense for him to forget all about the things his father thinks he is, to get a girlfriend and stash some porn magazines under his bed to be convincing. To be everything he should be, to never hear that goddamn word again and never earn another bruise for it.  His fists clench at his sides as he thinks about it, a faceless girl and some magazines filled with pinup models with huge tits. Being the perfect son, standing beside his father at press conferences and on the campaign trail, who gets married young and goes into business. Making his father look well-adjusted and electable to the local Japanese-American community, despite raising his child alone. He’s still walking through campus, but he’s not paying attention to his surroundings. Instead, he’s brooding. It would make sense, Tetsurou thinks, and yet he can’t do it. The word weasels its way back into his mind, taunting him. 

“I’m not gay,” Tetsurou whispers to himself, desperately quiet. He’s wandered into a deserted quad on the edge of school grounds, but he’s still afraid of being overheard. He speeds up, as if trying to put distance between him and his hollow declaration. The words feel empty as he says them. He wishes he’d had the courage to say them the previous night. He wishes he could believe them himself. 

Eager to escape his thoughts, he focuses his attention outward, and realizes he’s wandered off campus and into the collection of run-down houses that surround the campus’s western edge. Startled by the change in surroundings, he pulls out his phone and finds his location on the map app. He’s never been over this way, warned away by his father’s tales of “bad areas” where the druggies he has sent to jail come from. This is where the new immigrants live, and Tetsurou knows he’d be hard pressed to find a familiar face around here. Looking around, he takes in the small houses with their small yards and open air porches. Some of them have peeling paint and a few others could use some weeding in the lawn, but overall it doesn’t seem nearly as dirty or dangerous as his father had made it out to be. He should’ve known, he thinks as he zooms in on the map so he can see street names. His father has a knack for seeing the worst in things, and this is no exception. 

“Let’s see here…” He scans the screen, trying to figure out where he is. He is in no rush to get home, knowing what may be waiting for him, and decides he may as well do some exploring while he’s here. There’s gotta be something interesting around here, he reasons as he squints down at the map. He takes note of several restaurants and what appears to be a skating rink before his eyes catch on something that makes his heart lurch.  _ Halfway Home Rehabilitation Centers,  _ the map reads, the text hanging over an intersection about seven blocks away from where Tetsurou is standing. The conversation that had triggered his brooding wandering echoes in the back of his mind. _ Gay whore house _ . 

This is his chance, Tetsurou realizes. His whole life, he’s been beaten on for what his father thinks he is, but he’s never actually  _ been _ with a man. Sure, he’s had crushes, but he’s never actually been able to go anywhere with them, leaving him hopelessly confused about his feelings. This is his chance to try, no strings attached, to see if he is… that. This is his chance to prove to himself he’s  _ not gay _ , that he can be normal and his father can accept him. Or at the very least, it’s his chance to be sure he hasn’t forsaken his father’s love his whole life over a giant misunderstanding. 

In a rush, Tetsurou follows his phone map to a bank and takes out as much money as the ATM allows. He stuffs it into the back pocket of his jeans, hoping it’s enough. He knows his dad won’t question where the money went. Heck, if Tetsurou told his father he’d bought sex, he would probably clap him on the back and congratulate him for being a  _ real _ man. So long as he didn’t know that Tetsurou had bought sex with another man. 

Summoning up every last shred of courage he possesses, Tetsurou makes his way over to the house. Recalling the words of the men from class, he goes around back and raps on the back door with his knuckles. He’s trembling a little, which he knows won’t get him very far, so he straightens his back and adopts the cocksure expression that has been his ever reliable tool to make people think he’s more confident than he really is.

The door swings open to reveal a tall man with slicked back black hair and a severe expression. He’s is well muscled, Tetsurou notes, and if he really is the owner of a prostitution ring, it’s likely that he’s armed. He’s heard stories about pimps from his father, who’d been shot at in court once by one. Knowing what he’s doing is dangerous at best, Tetsurou decides to place himself in control of the situation and leans casually against the doorframe, the picture of suave.

“A friend of mine tells me you sell boys here.” His voice is soft, but laced with a provocative edge that he’s spent years mastering. He’s never thought that his provocation skills would earn him anything off the volleyball court or outside of debate tournaments, but the slight raise of the other man’s eyebrows indicates he made a good call. 

“Your friend knows what he’s talking about,” the man tells him, a smirk playing on his lips. “Any particular desires?”

“You seem like a man of discerning tastes, I bet you can get me what I need.” Tetsurou stares down at the man with a steady gaze and a small smirk of his own, hoping that he won’t notice the way his hands are still shaking a little. It’s probably the most bullshit thing he’s ever said, but he has no idea how else he could have responded without revealing his complete inexperience with sex.The man looks back at him, appraising. Tetsurou has never been so glad that his father makes him dress like a rich asshole as the other man takes in his designer skinny jeans and close fitting button down. 

“I get the feeling you’ll like Kitten,” the man says after a few beats of silence. “He’s three hundred a night, cash only, pay up front.” 

Tetsurou reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his wad of bills. He counts out three hundred and hands it to the man, who takes it and re-counts it carefully. Apparently satisfied, he nods and beckons Tetsurou in. Tetsurou follows him silently up a flight of stairs, taking in the place as he walks. Like the rest of the area, it’s not beautiful on the inside, but it’s cleaner and more hospitable than one might expect. The stairway opens up to a hallway which is lined with closed doors of various colors. Sounds of sex drift under the doors and over to Tetsurou’s ears, reminding him why he’s here. He’s going to have sex with a man. He’s not sure if the thought terrifies or excites him. 

The man walks over to a bright red door with black trim and knocks loudly. “I have someone here to meet you, Kitten,” he calls through the door. There’s a rustle behind the door and the unmistakable click of high heels. The footsteps grow closer, and the door swings open to reveal a young man. He’s clad in jet black stilettos and red skin tight jeans that hang dangerously low on his hips, revealing a pale, flat stomach. A strappy black crop top stretches over his upper body, baring smooth skin and leaving little to the imagination. The dim light emanating from the single overhead lamp inside the room gives him an ethereal look. Gold eyes gaze up at Tetsurou under hooded lids, and he can’t tell if the way “Kitten” bites his lip looks seductive or nervous. His thin shoulders are slightly hunched and his chin is angled down, allowing his choppy blond hair to fall in his face. He’s beautiful, Tetsurou realizes. Heat rises to his face as he remembers he’s here to have sex with this gorgeous man. The prospect no longer sounds so much terrifying as inviting. 

“If you don’t mind, I think we’d like to be alone,” Tetsurou murmurs, his eyes never leaving Kitten. He pays no mind to the brothel owner as he turns and walks away, focusing instead on Kitten as he turns heel into the bedroom and gestures for Tetsurou to follow. Tetsurou swallows and walks in behind him, shutting the door with a click. He slings his backpack off and allows it to fall to the floor, sure he won’t need it. Kitten turns and looks at him, and Tetsurou determines that the bite of his lip is definitely nervous. He’s doing his best to look seductive, but it’s obvious that Kitten is uncomfortable. The enormity of what he’s doing hits him, fresher and heavier this time. He’s here to have sex with this man. 

“What would you like to do?” Kitten purrs. He’s standing just inches in front of the large double bed that takes up most of the room, and it’s clear he expects to be in it soon. His posture has changed, and the way he holds himself puts on full display the slender beauty of his small body, but his eyes are still guarded. It’s obvious the line and the pose are practiced, but he’s not sure what to make of the nerves in Kitten’s eyes. Tetsurou had thought that  _ he _ would be the only nervous one. The tension in the room is doing nothing to calm him down as he wonders what the hell he’s doing here. He’s not gay, so what is he doing here with a male prostitute?

Another look at Kitten gives him his answer. It’s undeniable that Tetsurou is attracted to him, and he can already feel his jeans straining as he starts to get hard. He needs to know what this feeling is. He needs to be sure. 

Tetsurou looks down and stuffs his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable. “To be honest, I’ve never done this before.”

“This?” Kitten prompts. His voice is deeper than the first time he spoke, more natural. It’s clear that he’s confused. 

“I, uh, well…” Tetsurou pauses. He’s never admitted this out loud. “I haven’t ever had sex before.”   

Much to his surprise, Kitten appears to relax. The slouch of his shoulders now seems casual rather than cowed, and he’s no longer gnawing on his lower lip. He takes a few tentative steps over to Tetsurou and peers up at him, eyes searching. There’s still fear in his eyes, but the rest of his expression seems eager, even friendly. Tetsurou feels a rush of attraction, and finds he wants to banish the worry from that pretty face. This wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting, and he surprises himself with being okay with it.

“I…” Kitten trails off, as if gathering his courage. “I could show you what to do. If you want.”

“ _ Please _ .” The word has barely passed through his lips when Kitten curls his fingers in the front of Tetsurou’s shirt and pulls him down for a kiss. Tetsurou makes a muffled noise of surprise, but allows himself to close his eyes and enjoy the sensation. He’s been kissed before, lips tasting of fruity chapstick and feminine in their plumpness, but this is the first time he’s ever wanted to kiss back. His hands twitch at his sides, and he tentatively gives into instinct and places them on Kitten’s slim hips. Kitten, apparently emboldened by Tetsurou’s initiative, reaches around him and places one small hand on the back of his head, pulling him closer into the kiss. The other presses against the small of Tetsurou’s back, pressing them flush against each other. Tetsurou can feel himself growing hard in his jeans, and he shamelessly grinds against Kitten’s abdomen. 

Kitten pulls off Tetsurou’s mouth with a gasp and give him a faint smile. “Follow me,” he whispers, moving his hands to hook his fingers in the loops of Kuroo’s jeans. Tugging gently, he leads them to the bed and pulls Tetsurou down on top of him. Tetsurou does his best not to fall on the other man as he pitches forward, and ends up between Kitten’s legs with his arms framing Kitten’s head. Kitten stares up at him with wide eyes, and Tetsurou wants nothing more than to kiss the look off his face. So he does. Their lips meet, more gently this time, and Tetsurou takes the time to enjoy the feeling of Kitten’s mouth against his own. How had he gone so long without this? He’s not sure, but now that he has it, he wants to enjoy it as much as he can. 

Beneath him Kitten has visibly relaxed, and appears to be enjoying himself at least as much as Tetsurou is. Tetsurou feels a rush of happiness as he notices, and drags his lips away so he can smile down at Kitten, overwhelmed by the urge to share this new feeling. Kitten gives him a shy smile in return, and tilts his head back in invitation. Tetsurou grins and kisses from the lobe of Kitten’s ear down his neck to his collarbone, enjoying the way he squirms beneath him as he locates sensitive areas. He pauses as he reaches the top of Kitten’s shirt, torn between wanting to take it off and being paralyzed by the fear that he’s moving too fast. Kitten solves his dilemma for him, maneuvering beneath him to slip out of his shirt and bare his chest. 

Tetsurou has to stifle a whine of desire as he looks down at the man below him, and he descends upon him with a flurry of worshipping kisses. Tetsurou has always been an affectionate person under the layers of fear that his father has instilled in him, but this is the first time he’s ever gotten to let go and just let himself  _ feel _ and care in the way he’s always wanted to. It doesn’t matter to him that Kitten is a stranger or that he doesn’t even know his real name, only that Kitten is here and that Tetsurou has the power to make him happy and feel good.  _ How could I have let him keep this from me for so long? _ Testurou wonders as he whispers to Kitten that he’s beautiful in an awed voice. Kitten whines at that, and cups a hand at the back of Tetsurou’s head to pull it to his chest -- a request. Kuroo obliges him and takes a small, pink nipple into his mouth and nibbles gently. Kitten  _ keens _ and Tetsurou swears any blood he had left in his brain is rushing down to his dick. 

Tetsurou pulls back to admire the view beneath him, and Kitten takes the opportunity to unbutton Tetsurou’s shirt and start pulling it off him. Tetsurou smiles, pleased with the development, until Kitten’s fingers brush his shoulders.Tetsurou’s blood runs cold. He’s suddenly hyper aware of the ugly bruising that is throbbing on his back. What is Kitten going to think of him when he sees? That he’s ugly? That he’s weak for letting this happen to him? Kitten, apparently sensing his discomfort, surges up and catches his lips in a gentle kiss, sliding Tetsurou’s shirt off the rest of the way while he’s distracted. Tetsurou winces as his bruises are bared, remembered pain pulsing through his body. Kitten inhales sharply, and Tetsurou begins to curl in on himself, expecting harsh words and and striking hands. What he does not expect is to have his hands clasped and his bruised wrists brought to Kitten’s mouth. He does not expect the gentle, almost apologetic kisses Kitten leaves there before moving up his arm to kiss the tops of his battered shoulders. He does not expect to feel  _ cherished _ . 

Tetsurou exhales his relief and relaxes back into the moment, ignoring the dampness around his eyes. Kitten caresses him gently, his soft fingers tracing delicate patterns into Tetsurou’s bruise-mottled skin and soothing him with gentle sounds. Tetsurou leans down and allows his weight to press down on Kitten so he can cup the other man’s face and kiss him properly. The hands on his back move down and become increasingly insistent as they move to cup his ass, and Tetsurou gasps as Kitten pulls him down to grind their dicks against each other. Tetsurou bites back a moan, unsure of what to do next. They’re both still in their pants, and as much as Kuroo would like to strip them both, he’s also nervous about what comes next. He’s heard enough about gay sex to know that there’s got to be lube and stretching involved. He’s not sure if he wants to be the one on bottom, but he sure as hell doesn’t trust himself not to hurt Kitten. 

Kitten is reading his desires like a book, Tetsurou realizes as the smaller man reaches between them and begins to unbutton his jeans. Panicked, Tetsurou speaks up. “Wait!” Kitten freezes, and Tetsurou realizes he’s startled him with the sharpness of his tone. Taking care to soften his voice, he speaks again. “I… I don’t know what to do from here.” 

Kitten gives him a soft, understanding smile, and pushes up gently on Tetsurou’s chest. Tetsurou flips off of him and sits beside him on the bed, staring down at his hands. Kitten reaches over and puts a tentative hand on his thigh. 

“Do you want to be on top or bottom?” he asks. His tone is patient, and Tetsurou can already feel his comfort returning. He feels a rush of gratitude towards Kitten, and he looks over to meet his gaze.

“Uh, I guess I’d rather top. But… I don’t want to hurt you.”

Kitten snorts derisively, his face scrunching up in amusement. “I’ve had enough experience.” Tetsurou blushes at the reminder that he’s here with a prostitute, but relaxes in spite of himself. Everything is going to be ok. “But I can stretch myself if you’d like.” 

Tetsurou nods. Kitten stands and walks over to the only other furnishing in the room, a bedside table. Tetsurou cannot help but be drawn in by the graceful movements of his long legs, lengthened by his stilettos. Pulling out a drawer, Kitten retrieves a bottle of lubricant and a box of condoms and tosses them on the bed. He pauses, and then stoops to take off his shoes and deposit them on the floor. He moves like he’s putting on a show as he shimmies out of his pants, revealing a pair of lacy black panties. Tetsurou swallows. Kitten’s erection is obvious through the thin fabric, and it springs free when those too fall to the floor. Looking at it, Tetsurou finally understands why people give blow jobs. He wants to feel it, taste it,  _ worship _ it. 

Kitten lies back on his back and takes the bottle of lube in his hand. There’s a click of the lid and a wet sound, and then he’s reaching down between his legs and pressing a single finger into himself. He gives a small moan, and Tetsurou whines needily in return. 

“Hey,” Tetsurou whispers, his eyes fixed on the movement of Kitten’s fingers and the flushed pink shape of his cock against his stomach. “Can I... “ He’s not sure how to phrase what he wants to do, but Kitten whines out a yes before he can even try. Emboldened, Tetsurou moves to shift Kitten further up the bed, and then settles between his legs. Careful not to jostle his hand, which now has two fingers moving inside of him, Tetsurou takes Kitten’s cock into his mouth. 

The taste is odd, but the velvety smooth feel of the flesh and its weight on his tongue feels heavenly, and Tetsurou runs his tongue around the head to get more of it. Kitten groans at that one, and Tetsurou doubles down his efforts, licking and sucking and just experiencing Kitten’s dick with his mouth. His thoughts return again and again to how he cannot believe that he’s never done this before, that he’s waited so long to feel this way about another person. He buries the reason and and allows himself to marvel instead at the rush of new experiences, each of which is more exhilarating than the last. It’s sloppy and wet and he’s almost positive he’s not doing a good job, but it’s not long before Kitten is moaning and words of warning tumble from his lips. Tetsurou continues sucking, determined to see this through, and swallows eagerly when bitterness floods his mouth. Objectively it’s not very pleasant, but in the heat of the moment it feels like the hottest thing he’s ever done.  

He looks up at Kitten as he slides his dick out of his mouth, gauging his reaction. He’s suddenly insecure, knowing full well that Kitten has probably gotten more blowjobs than he’d care to think about and that his was mediocre at best. Tetsurou opens his mouth, although he’s not sure what he wants to express other than his remorse that he didn’t do better, but Kitten beats him to the punch. 

“That was good. You were so good,” Kitten whispers. Tetsurou feels a shiver run down his spine, and he groans a little involuntarily. Kitten’s eyebrows raise at that, and a sly smile dances on his lips. A wet sound draws Tetsurou’s attention down, and he realizes that Kitten is slowly pulling four fingers from within himself. Tetsurou’s eyes widen, and he can’t help but freeze up a little again as he realizes once more that he’s hit a landmark. This is it. 

“Hey.” The sound of Kitten’s voice jolts Tetsurou out of the depths of his own thoughts, and he looks up to meet Kitten’s eyes. “Can you be good for me again?” Tetsurou’s face is hot, and he nods. Kitten’s smile grows wider. “I know you’re gonna take good care of me. Can you be a good boy and put one of these on?” He reaches over to pull a condom out of the box, which had been lying forgotten on the bed next to them, and hands it to Tetsurou. Compelled by Kittens words, he hastily rips open the foil and rolls the condom down over himself. Kitten watches him with hungry eyes. Trembling slightly, Tetsurou lines up with Kitten’s slick entrance and takes a deep breath. Kitten whines as he begins to press in slowly, relishing the heat and tightness of Kitten’s body around him as he inches forward.

“ _ God _ , you feel so good,” Kitten gasps when Tetsurou is fully seated. There’s that shiver down his spine again, and Tetsurou makes pleased noises as he preens under the praise. He leans down and presses gentle kisses on Kitten’s face as he rolls his hips gently, getting a feel for the motion. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Tetsurou whispers in his ear, and they’re pressed close enough that he can feel the way Kitten’s body reacts to his words. Tetsurou grins wickedly. Two can play at that game. “You feel  _ incredible _ ,” he tells Kitten, thrusting hard into him for emphasis on the last word. They both gasp a little at the sensation. “Do you have any idea how pretty you are? How hard I got just looking at you?”

“You’re so good to me,” Kitten gasps out between thrusts, which are increasing in speed and intensity. “Why are you so good to me?” 

“Because you deserve it,” Tetsurou tells him, and it’s true. Kitten has done nothing but make him feel secure and happy all night, and he wants desperately to return the favor. He shifts a little, changing the angle of his thrusts, and suddenly Kitten is keening and grabbing at Tetsurou’s back to pull him in faster. Tetsurou can barely feel the pain of Kitten’s fingers digging into his bruises, focuses as he is on the pleasure building in his lower body and the sound of Kitten’s voice moaning praises in his ear. He knows he won’t last much longer, so he reaches down between them and takes Kitten’s dick into his hand, teasing his thumb over the head. This, at least, he knows how to do. Rolling his hips hard against the spot that is making Kitten come undone, he trails feather soft kisses along the column of Kitten’s throat towards his mouth. When he finally reaches it, he presses their mouths together and then whispers against Kitten’s lips, sweet and soft.

“Come for me, beautiful.” 

Kitten spills over Tetsurou’s hand with a soft cry of pleasure, and Tetsurou comes soon after. He collapses on top of Kitten, enjoying their closeness and ignoring the stickiness of cum that coats both their stomachs. Warmth and contentment fill his body as the post-orgasm glow sets in, and Tetsurou is sure he’s never felt more at peace than here in the arms of a stranger. Kitten squirms a little beneath him, and Testurou pulls out and peels off the condom. Tying it off, he tosses it in the trash can by the bed. He flops back down onto Kitten, who protests his weight. Kitten shifts, and Tetsurou allows himself to be moved so they’re lying front to back. Tetsurou reaches out an arm and pulls Kitten towards himself, snuggling up against his smaller form.  _ I’m definitely gay _ , he thinks to himself as he buries his nose into Kitten’s hair and inhales the scent of his shampoo. His eyes fall closed, and he allows himself to focus on his sense of touch. Every place his skin is pressed against Kitten is pleasantly warm, and Tetsurou nuzzles him, trying to get more of it. For a moment, all he feels is comfort. 

_ I’m definitely gay. _ His eyes snap open as he realizes what he’d thought. The hand he has rested on Kitten’s stomach twitches, and he can feel the bruise on his wrist pressed against Kitten’s skin.  _ I’m gay _ , he thinks, and his back throbs.  _ I’m gay _ . At the back of his mind he can hear the sharp sound of a slap against skin of his cheek. _ I’m gay _ . The dull thud of his back hitting the wall again and again.  _ I’m gay _ . Hunger panging in his stomach because he was sent to his room without dinner. _ I’m gay. _ The crunch of a fist against his rib cage.  _ I’m gay _ . Hot tears streaming down his face as he listens to his father scream.  _ I’m gay. _ The fake smile he wore to protect his father’s image from his bruises and his sexuality. 

Tetsurou doesn’t realize he’s crying until Kitten turns around and runs a thumb under his eye. It comes away wet, and it glistens slightly under the dim light of the room. Kitten looks at him, his face a mix of concern and confusion. When he speaks, it’s soft and worried. 

“What… what’s wrong?” 

“I’m  _ gay _ .” Tetsurou chokes back a sob. His chest feels like it’s knotted, and breathing is difficult. He can feel Kitten tensing beside him, unsure of what to do or how to handle him, and Tetsurou scrambles for something, anything to make the situation better. “It’s not… It’s not your fault I’m upset. I… I just never  _ believed _ it until now. And… I’m  _ scared _ . God I’m so scared.” He pauses.  “I’m sorry.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “It’s just been so bad for so long and I can’t even deny it anymore.”

Kitten’s eyes flit to the swollen shadows on his wrists, and then up to his shoulders where Tetsurou knows more darkness peeks out. There’s a soft ‘ah’ of understanding, and the tension leaves his body. He reaches out to Tetsurou and pulls him close, making soothing sounds as he runs soft fingers over his sides. The touch is reassuring, and Tetsurou leans into it, seeking any comfort he can get. They lie like that for a long while, and somewhere along the way the tightness in his chest uncoils and his breathing evens out. He exhales slowly in relief as he feels himself slowly, and presses a gentle kiss to Kitten’s forehead. 

“Thank you,” he whispers. Kitten nods in acknowledgement. Satisfied, Tetsurou closes his eyes and allows himself to drift. 

He’s not sure how much time has passed when a sudden knock comes at the door. Kitten jolts at the sound, startling Tetsurou into alertness. It’s then he realizes that they’re both still naked. He jumps out of bed and rushes to put his clothes on while Kitten lazily moves to wrap himself in a sheet and get the door. It opens to reveal the brothel owner, who holds out a small plastic container to Kitten. Kitten takes it into his hands, which are trembling slightly, and murmurs thanks. Staring past Kitten, the man gestures at Tetsurou, who is still buttoning his shirt. 

“Time’s up bud, be out of here in 15 minutes or you’ll have to pay for it.” Tetsurou frowns, sure that he’d paid for a night and not just a few hours, but does not protest. He’s pushing his luck being here again. The door slams shut, leaving the two of them alone. Tetsurou finishes the last button of his shirt and grabs his backpack, slinging it over one shoulder.

“So, uh, thank you, for this,” Tetsurou stammers, unsure of how to properly communicate the gratitude and affection he feels towards the other man. Kitten is standing facing him, still right in front of the door, looking especially small shrouded in the large sheet of the double bed. “This, how do I say this without sounding weird… well, it meant a lot to me. So thanks, Kitten.”

“Kenma.” Kitten’s voice is quiet, and Tetsurou cocks his head, not sure if he’s heard right. “My name’s Kenma. Call me Kenma.” 

Tetsurou blinks. Kenma? He says the name quietly, and finds he likes the way it feels on his tongue. Smiling, he strides forward and presses a gentle kiss to Kenma’s forehead. “Thank you then, Kenma.” He hesitates, and then stoops to press another soft kiss to Kenma’s mouth. Then he steps around him and opens the door, stepping out and leaving Kenma alone in the room.

Kenma presses his fingers to his lips, feeling the lingering sensation of the man’s mouth on his own. His heart is beating loudly in his chest, but for once he doesn’t feel like he’s about to panic. This customer had been stressful, certainly, but he’d also been warm and kind in a way that he hadn’t experienced in a long time. The man had read him, understood him, and never once pushed his thoughts towards panic or terror. Instead, he’d done everything he could to make Kenma feel safe. It’s the calmest that Kenma’s felt sober in a long time.

He strides over to the bed, sheet trailing behind him, and flops down unceremoniously. He’s still holding the pill box that Washijou gave him, and it rattles as he hits the mattress. He’s starting to feel the aching pain that holds him until the real craving for the drugs sets in, but for once he’s willing to put off taking them. The painkillers numb him and, for once, his emotions aren’t ones he wants dulled. Lying back on the bed, he allows himself to feel the warmth in his chest and recalls gentleness of the customer with the shy smile and terrible bedhead. He’ll give in eventually, but for now he’ll bask in these new, unfamiliar feelings that make him want to experience them the way they’re meant to be.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and let me know what you think! I have a lot in store for this fic and want to make sure I'm making my readers happy every step of the way.
> 
> You can view the amazing art that accompanies this chapter [here](http://astralseed.tumblr.com/post/149484475942/this-piece-goes-along-with-bisexual-bokutos)


	2. Victim of the system (say it isn't so)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: graphic descriptions of sex, portrayals of drug addiction, portrayals of anxiety, vague mentions of past transphobia, mentions of abuse.

Kenma lies back as the man fucks him, doing his best to shut out the sound of skin slapping against skin. He figured out a while ago that this client doesn’t care much for his engagement in the act, so he’s free to let his mind wander while his body is used like a living sex toy. Anxiety thrums in his veins, and only the presence of another man between his legs is preventing him from curling up into a ball and hyperventilating. He’s used to feeling like this, but that doesn’t mean he likes it. He’s not even enjoying the sex, which is usually the only redeeming quality about being forced into work that makes him constantly deal with  people. The man’s body over him is suffocating, acting as a barrier that traps him with all his problems with no way out. His mind races and his heart is pounding in his ears, and he’s beginning to crave a fix. He’s been trying to be careful about how many painkillers he takes since he got here, knowing full well his dependency gives the house owners leverage over him, but when he has to see strangers every day it’s all he can do not to spiral into full  blown addiction.

A prostitute with social anxiety, Kenma thinks, shifting so the man is at least hitting his prostate with his thrusts. His breathing is growing shallower, and he can tell by the look on the other man’s face that he thinks it’s because he’s making Kenma feel good. On the contrary, Kenma finds himself descending slowly into panic, unable to handle the way the client keeps staring at him as they fuck. He knows sex is supposed to be intimate, but he’s a prostitute, not this man’s lover. He feels bare and vulnerable and terrified, a feeling he hasn’t gotten used to even after all this time. He does his best to slow his breathing, knowing he’ll be punished if he cries during sex and the customer tells. Last time, they’d taken his drugs away for three days. He’d had eight panic attacks as he went through withdrawal. Thinking about it wasn’t helping his efforts to stay calm.

Calm, he thinks desperately. What is calm? He thinks back to a few days prior, and the shy customer with the nice smile and terrible hair. He thinks of the way the man had held him, the sweetness in his touch and the kindness in his kiss. The way he’d preened under Kenma’s praise, the way he’d opened up physically and emotionally under Kenma’s care. He’s never felt positive feelings with a customer before, not like that. It’s with thoughts of that man, the feeling of his body cradling Kenma’s own and the pleasure of having him inside him, that Kenma finally is able to let go. The man above him smiles darkly as Kenma comes, apparently thinking Kenma’s pleasure is a result of his own work. Meanwhile, Kenma wonders when all this will be over, and if the kind customer will ever come back. He hopes he does, but life in the brothel has taught Kenma never to hold too tightly on to hope.

Calm, Tetsurou thinks, looking down at his wrists. The bruises have faded since Friday, and his father had not checked on him in days, but he still can’t help but feel anxious. It’s Tuesday, and it’s the first day he’s worn short sleeves since the incident with his father. In the California heat it feels much better to bare his skin, but he feels naked without the shield of cloth covering his body. He knows Kenma left no marks on him, but he’s constantly afraid someone will look at him and somehow figure out what he’d done. Afraid that somehow his father will find out.

As scared as he is about being discovered, however, Tetsurou is not ashamed of his actions. He taps his pencil against his notebook, zoning out of the lecture in front of him to imagine Kenma’s face, his body, the softness of his expression and the smoothness of his skin. He’s sitting at the front of the lecture hall, so he has to be subtle about his distraction to avoid his professor’s wrath. He jots down a few notes, taking in his professor’s words and the scratching of students’ pens on paper on autopilot, but his mind is where it’s stubbornly stayed since Friday night: with Kenma.

He glances down at his wrists again, and sees the slightest shadow of bruise that remains there. He thinks of how Kenma had kissed the darkness away, shown him that he could be good and be cared for, even if he loves men. His heart feels lighter at the thought of the soft kindness Kenma had shown him, and warmth pools in his gut as he thinks of the pleasure he’d felt while he was with him. His grip tightens on his pencil, and the lead snaps against the page. He presses the button a few times to eject more lead, and sets back to note taking. The bruises on his wrist are wrong, he thinks. His father is wrong. If his father is against how he felt while he was with Kenma, he _must_ be wrong, because he’s never felt so right than he did when he was lying with Kenma in his arms.

He pauses in his note taking again as he realizes that it’s the first time he’s thought that. He’s never thought his father might be wrong for hating him like this. Grass is green, the sun is a star, evolution is real and Teturou’s father beats him for being gay. All facts, uncontestable in Tetsurou’s mind, things to accept in life and move on. But Tetsurou doesn’t want to accept this anymore, living hollowly and in fear. He wants to be happy, and whole, and safe, and feel okay with who he is.

I have to go back, he realizes. If Kenma is the first person to make him feel all of those things, then he needs to go back and get more. He needs to learn what it feels like to be valued and cared for, even if he has to pay for it. At this point, Tetsurou would take bought affection over free abuse any day.

That realization is what draws Tetsurou back to that back door, standing with a cocky posture and three hundred dollars in his back pocket. The brothel owner’s face flickers with recognition as he pulls the door open, and he cocks his head with a knowing look.

“You want Kitten again?” he asks. Kuroo reaches into his back pocket and pulls out the wad of bills. He holds it out, but when the other man reaches for it, he pulls back.

“Last time I paid for a full night and didn’t get it.” He raises his eyebrows, confident and dangerous. On the inside, his heart is pounding. All he wants is more time with Kenma, and he doesn’t want to fuck this up. The other man’s face doesn’t look too threatening, so he continues. “Am I going to be jipped again, or should I be taking my business elsewhere?” His voice is heavy with the weight of authority and sharp with Tetsurou’s infamous provocative edge.

The other man raises his eyebrows, and a smirk dances across his lips. “You’re sharper than I thought after all. Give me your money, you’ve got the man for the night.”  He disappears into the house and calls behind him that Tetsurou should follow. Tetsurou steps inside, his heart racing. He’s done it. He’s going to get to see Kenma again.

When the red and black door opens, Tetsurou thinks Kenma looks surprised to see him. His eyes widen, shining a dull glow in the dim light of the naked lightbulb that hangs overhead. His posture instantly relaxes, and his face becomes less guarded. Tetsurou follows him inside the room, quiet. It’s when the door shuts behind him that he realizes this might have been a bad idea, and he looks at the bed where he’d cried in Kenma’s arms with wary eyes. Does Kenma really want to deal with him after that? Does Kenma even want him to be here at all? What if he’d been bad at sex last time and Kenma didn’t want to sleep with him again?

Tetsurou’s thoughts are interrupted as he hears the sound of clothes sliding over skin, and he blushes when he realizes Kenma has removed his shirt. He’s left in just a red skirt and heels, and he’s looking at Tetsurou with hungry eyes. “You came back for me,” he breathes. “What a good boy you are.”

Tetsurou shivers at the praise, and smiles at how Kenma remembered that about him. He steps forward, hesitant, and places a hand on the bare skin of Kenma’s waist. He looks down at him, takes in his golden pupils and angular face, and smiles. Emboldened, he places another hand on the small of Kenma’s back and pulls him close. He feels Kenma relax into his touch, and sighs with relief as he realizes Kenma wants this too. He stays there for a moment, just holding him and enjoying the intimacy that comes with pure touch. Then he leans down and presses his lips to Kenma’s face, kissing from his forehead down his nose to his mouth.

Kenma leans up into the kiss, snaking his tongue into Tetsurou’s mouth to deepen it. Tetsurou pulls Kenma even closer and runs his hands up and down Kenma’s torso, eager to just feel the other man’s body under his fingertips.

“God you’re beautiful,” Tetsurou groans against Kenma’s lips. Kenma pulls away, and Tetsurou can tell he’s blushing. His heart rate picks up at that as he realizes Kenma is not only gorgeous but cute when he’s flustered, and leans down to kiss him all the more.

Tetsurou would have been fine spending the entire night just kissing, but Kenma has other ideas. He’s not sure why this customer came back, if he liked the sex or the intimacy or if he feels like he can trust Kenma after crying in his arms, but he’s glad that he did and he wants to show him that. He drops to his knees and unbuttons the other man’s jeans. He grabs the fabric and tugs them down, bringing his boxers down with him. He remembers him saying last time that he’d never had sex before, so Kenma takes him into his mouth without any worry of a condom. The man above him keens as Kenma’s lips wrap around him, his noises heightening to a moan as Kenma moves his tongue experimentally. He pulls off with a pop and looks up.

“If you want to be extra good for me, you’ll keep making those noises…” he trails off, wanting to call the other by his name but drawing a blank.

“Kuroo,” Tetsurou whispers, sensing what Kenma wants. “I’m Kuroo.” He normally hates giving his family name to people, but what seems even more hateful is telling a man he’s having sex with the name that has been shouted at him as he was beaten for wanting to have sex with men.

“Kuro,” Kenma muses, tasting the familiar feel of the Japanese word on his lips. He traces his fingers in the dense black hairs that lead from Kuroo’s belly button down between his legs.“How fitting.”

Tetsurou almost laughs, because Kenma did _not_ just make a pun off his name based off his happy trail right before giving him a blow job, but then Kenma is sucking him off and he can’t bring himself to feel indignant. He laces his fingers in Kenma’s hair and tugs at him gently as Kenma continues to work him with his mouth, his tongue and lips drawing lewd moans past Tetsurou’s lips. He lets himself be vocal to his heart’s content, following Kenma’s direction, and it’s not long before he’s stuttering out a warning and spilling into Kenma’s mouth.

Kenma pulls off and drags the back of his hand across his mouth, wrinkling his nose at the bitter taste. He stands and pulls Kuroo towards the bed, not giving him a beat to recover. He wants him to feel good, just like how he makes Kenma feel. His chest is light, unburdened by anxiety, and he feels safe here with Kuroo in the room. He’s completely sober, and he’s certain now that it’s Kuroo that is having the calming effect on him. Kuroo pulls off his clothes the rest of the way and follows Kenma, his face eager. Kenma lies back and pulls Kuroo on top of him, unafraid for once of what comes next. He knows this man will treat him tenderly.

And tender is exactly the word Kenma would use to describe the way Kuroo touches him, the way he looks at Kenma while he coats his fingers in lube and, following Kenma’s instructions, slowly stretches him out. Kuroo handles him like he’s a precious thing, kissing him when the burn of fingers is too much and whispering declarations of beauty in his ear while he squirms with pleasure beneath him. Kenma croons praises to Kuroo as he works, and smirks as he sees how Kuroo’s entire body reacts to his words.  When Kuroo finally rolls on a condom and presses in, Kenma is already near boneless with pleasure and can’t help but gasp as he’s filled, feeling not only sexual gratification but also genuine intimacy and closeness. He whispers in Kuroo’s ear that he’s perfect, that he feels so good and that he makes Kenma so happy, and it’s true. He feels safe here, Kuroo’s body over him feeling like a shield against his worries rather than a suffocating enclosure. It’s been so long since he felt like he could just breathe while with someone else, so he does, spending each exhalation ensuring that Kuroo knows just how good he is.

As Kenma exhales, Tetsurou inhales, trying to keep his breathing steady. Kenma’s words are having an effect on him, and he’s not sure if he’ll last much longer at this rate. He presses a kiss to the column of Kenma’s neck and runs his hands over Kenma’s sides, simply enjoying the feeling of his body. He wants to convey his admiration to Kenma somehow, and attempts to do so through touch and kiss, putting gentleness into each thrust and brush of fingers. Tetsurou has never been particularly religious, but he feels worship in the way he navigates Kenma’s body, reverence in the way he reminds Kenma of his beauty, and a vague sense of divinity fate in the fact that they’re here together.

He comes completely undone within Kenma, groaning his name and holding him close as Kenma, too, finds his relief. He feels a sense of loss as he pulls out, and he rushes to get rid of the condom and pull Kenma close to his chest. Kenma is still responsive to his touch, so Tetsurou indulges his own desire to cling and wraps himself around Kenma. His hands find Kenma’s hair and begin to stroke him, feeling the silky texture of his blond locks. He feels safe, comfortable, and _honest_ , embracing himself as much as Kenma as he takes in the simple beauty of intimacy with another man. There’s a sliver of fear in his chest as thinks the _word_ to himself, but as he looks down at Kenma it fades away. He’s definitely gay, but here with Kenma that fact isn’t hollow or terrifying, but warm and inviting. He marvels again at how he’s spent so long without this, and wonders if he’ll ever be able to give it up. He hopes he won’t have to.

Kenma, too hopes. It’s a dangerous thing, he knows, but he’d hoped that Kuroo would return and he had, so perhaps it doesn’t always end badly. He hopes that Kuroo will stay the night this time and hold him to keep the nightmares at bay. He hopes that Kuroo felt good tonight. He hopes that Kuroo knows how much his presence soothes Kenma, even if he can’t say it out loud. Most importantly, he hopes Kuroo comes back.

Hope, it turns out, isn’t so bad after all, because Kuroo does spend the night and hold him, cherishing him like holds all of life’s secrets. When he leaves in the morning, he kisses Kenma and calls him perfect, and the happy haze that follows keeps Kenma sober for hours to follow. And later, Kuroo does come back. Kenma has no idea where he gets the money to spend the night with him so often, but he can’t complain at all. Kuroo is kind to him like no one else, giving him the gentlest sex, the sweetest words and the greatest security. Some days they don’t even have sex, instead lying in bed and just holding each other. It takes a while, but eventually Kuroo gets Kenma talking, and Kenma surprises himself with how much he’s willing to share. And when Kuroo comes back after a conversation about Kenma’s interests holding a used PSP and some games, he knows that he’s somehow unknowingly broached the line that held normal customers at bay. Kuroo isn’t a normal customer, he thinks as Kuroo settles in behind him to hold him while he plays, not with the way he treats Kenma. Not with the way he makes Kenma feel.

Tetsurou sees his bank account dwindling, but cannot bring himself to care. His father happily deposits money into his account when Tetsurou tells him he’s been going to the beach on weekends with girls, not even bothering to check in. He hasn’t hit Tetsurou in weeks, and Tetsurou has found it easier and easier to lie about his whereabouts. His new liberty is used frequently, taking him to the brothel up to three times a week. He’s cut a deal with the owner, after some hard bargaining, to lower the price for him as a regular customer. He saves little money, though, spending what he would have used to see Kenma to buy things _for_ Kenma. He knows on a rational level it doesn’t make sense to get so attached to a prostitute, but he also doesn’t think of Kenma as a prostitute anymore. Kenma is everything in Tetsurou’s mind, his source of comfort and safety and and warmth.

Tetsurou spends his days distracted by thoughts of Kenma, so much so that it becomes a problem with his focus as he goes about his usual activities. It’s about a month after he met Kenma that he runs quite literally into another student on the quad, jolted out of his daydream about cuddling with Kenma by the jarring thud of another body colliding with his own.

“Tch, watch where you’re going moron.” The person Tetsurou has hit is blonde, with black spectacles and an irritated expression on her face. She’s Kuroo’s height and thin, and her hands are placed on her hips in another clear display of annoyance. Her face is familiar, and Tetsurou pauses to get a look at her. She rolls her eyes and hitches her backpack up on her shoulder. “Was running into me not enough of a hindrance to my day?”

He squints a little, and then realization hits him. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it, not sure if the name he knows her by is still acceptable. He decides to try again with a safer option. “Tsukki?”

The blond squints back at him, and then huffs. “Oh. Hi Tetsurou.” She frowns. “Didn’t I tell you not to call me that.”

“I… wasn’t sure if your other name had changed…” Tetsurou admits. “Last time I saw you, you, well…”

“I still wasn’t out to everyone, yeah,” she says, her expression looking marginally less pissed. “It’s still Kei though. It’s a gender neutral name and it was too much of a pain in the ass to change it.” She shrugs. “No one at this school knows about before though, so keep your mouth shut about it.”

Kei had been a sort-of-friend from high school, a freshman on an opposing school’s volleyball team when he’d been a junior. They’d attended two summer camps together, before Kei had dropped the sport to transition and Tetsurou had left for college. He’d always liked her, fond of the snarky mouth that covered for insecurities and drew attention away from the genuine skill she’d had in the sport. He’s not sure if the feeling was mutual, although he supposes there had been a certain measure of trust between them. After all, Kei had told him about being trans before she’d come out, and she’d guarded that secret with her life.

“Your secret has been safe with me for years, Tsukki,” Tetsurou says, his voice teasing as it gets to the nickname. Kei rolls her eyes in annoyance.

“Seriously, it’s Kei.” She says. “Now either walk with me or go away. I need to put this bag down, it weighs about a hundred pounds.”

Tetsurou falls into stride next to her and allows her to lead him to the library. She has a graceful gait, and her long yellow dress makes the long lines of her body look especially feminine as it flutters in the autumn breeze. A long blond braid trails down her back and lies across the back of her backpack, swishing back and forth as she moves. She looks happier than she did in high school, and it’s clear transition has done a lot for her. “Uh, well…” Tetsurou isn’t sure how to say what he wants, so he just spits it out. “Change looks good on you.”

She looks at him sharply and Tetsurou is worried he’s overstepped, but then she gives the smallest of smiles. “Thanks,” she says. She comes up on a table and swings her backpack off, letting it hit the ground with a thud of textbooks. She pulls out a chair and sits, and Tetsurou imitates her. He’s not sure what to say, but he’s glad to see her regardless. He’s never had many friends, not wanting to bring anyone home to meet his father, and even if he’d never been _that_ close to Kei, friends are friends in Tetsurou’s mind. Anyways, she could possibly understand him in a way few others could, having herself lived closeted and afraid for much of her teen years.

“So how’s college treating you?” he asks after a few beats of silence, leaning in.

“No one calls me a boy anymore, which is nice,” she says with a shrug. “They won’t let me live in the girls dorms though, so I’m stuck at home with my parents.”

Tetsurou blinks. “That sucks,” he says, unsure of what else to say.

Kei nods. “Sure does. Believe me, I’m bitter about it. But it’s nicer than high school, so I’ll suck it up and pretend everything is fine and right with the world.”

Tetsurou laughs. “You are just as much of a salt mine as you were when you were sixteen, god.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment, mostly because I don’t think it’s worth coming up with a properly witty retort,” Kei deadpans. “What about you? Is college life thrilling and full of drunken escapades and wild hookups and making your dad ashamed of ever letting you leave his house?” Her voice is perfectly flat, but her eyebrows are raised, baiting.

Tetsurou thinks about how he’d spent the previous night, and laughs again. “My father most certainly would be ashamed of me if he knew how I actually live my life.”

“Finally grew the brains to outsmart his controls?” Kei asks.

Tetsurou ignores the jab. “More like I got better at lying. And a lot more invested in keeping my private life private.”

“What could you possibly be doing that would make your private life worth hiding? It’s not like you’re interesting.”

Tetsurou presses a hand to his chest, mockingly wounded. “Tsukki, you’re cruel.” Her eyebrows twitch at the nickname. Tetsurou pauses, and takes a deep breath. This is the first time he’s said this out loud to anyone other than Kenma, but he knows that as rude as Kei is, she never means to be flat out cruel. She won’t use this against him. “My father would definitely flip if he found I’m fucking a guy, so I’m interested in keeping it on the down low.”

Kei’s eyebrows shoot up at that. She knows about Tetsurou’s father and his attachment to the idea of a ‘traditional’ family. She also knows about his temper. “I suppose that might be a good thing to keep private,” she admits. “I’d ask if he’s cute, but then I remembered I don’t really care.”

“He’s adorable,” Tetsurou tells her, his voice full of conviction. “I’ve honestly never met someone so wonderful.”

Kei wrinkles her nose. “Gross, when did you get all sentimental?” she asks.

Tetsurou chuckles. “As if I haven’t always been like this.”

“You’re right. Remind me why I’m talking to you again?”

“Because I’m charming and pleasant and a super nice guy?”

Kei snorts. “Try again.”

“Because you and I both have big secrets that make people be assholes to us and that makes us able to understand one another?”

“If we must be crushingly realistic about it I suppose that’s an accurate assessment,” Kei acquiesces with a shrug. Her face is grim, and Tetsurou’s heart twists in sympathy. She’s good at playing it off, but he knows the past few years have been hard for her, if what he knows from high school is any indication. He wants to help her, he realizes, and is startled by the impulse. He reaches into his jeans pocket and pulls out his phone, placing it on the table.

“You changed your number since I last saw you,” he says. Kei glances at the phone, sighs, and picks it up.

“Yeah, to avoid irritations such as yourself,” she says as she unlocks the phone and taps the contacts to put her number in.

“Truly contact with me is a burden,” Tetsurou quips with a sarcastic smile. Kei rolls her eyes, but hands the phone back with her contact information recorded.

“Don’t make me regret giving you that,” Kei warns, her expression severe.

Tetsurou glances down at the phone and notes the time. “How could you ever regret talking to me? I’m a delight.” Kei snorts derisively. “But I do have class in twenty minutes and need to get something to eat before hand, so I suppose you’ll have to be deprived of my company for now.”

“What a tragedy,” Kei deadpans.

Tetsurou chuckles and stands. “Seriously though Kei, it’s good to see you. Don’t be a stranger.”

“You’re the one who has my number, that’s all on you,” she points out.

“So it is.” Tetsurou gives a small wave. “See you around.”

Class flies and then it’s evening and Tetsurou is letting himself into his apartment. He’s feeling a little downtrodden, having gotten a less-than-stellar grade on his most recent paper for his legal history course. He knows why he’s performing below his average – which is stellar – but it doesn’t make him feel much better. What would make him feel better, he thinks, would be to go to the source of the problem – Kenma. Spending time with Kenma always makes Tetsurou feel better, even if he knows his grades are slipping because he spends so much time at the halfway house. He drops the paper on his kitchen table and slides his backpack off, pulling out his wallet. He checks to make sure he has enough money on him, and then heads out. The evening air is cool on his skin, and the purples of dusk give the evening a peaceful serenity. He pays little attention to his surroundings as the evening grows darker around him, focused on getting to where he wants to be.

By the time he makes it to Kenma, he’s already feeling better, and he sweeps the other into a kiss as soon as the door shuts behind him. He pulls away and looks down at Kenma, who is staring up at him with wide eyes. Tetsurou feels himself blush, and warmth floods his chest. “Did you know you’re beautiful?” Tetsurou asks, tucking a stray lock behind Kenma’s ear.

Kenma feels his own face heat, and he looks down. Even now, he finds it hard to believe it when Kuroo says these things, the sinister voice of his anxiety telling him that it’s a lie. He can’t bring himself to answer the question with an affirmative, so he just pulls Kuroo close and clings to him. Kuroo’s presence, as always, soothes him, and he finds himself able to breathe better when the air is tinged with the smell of his detergent and the musk of his body.

They don’t have sex that night, instead lying down on the bed and talking about their days. Kuroo cards his fingers through Kenma’s hair as he holds him, occasionally interrupting his speech to press a gentle kiss to his face. They fall asleep with their limbs tangled and their hearts warm, holding on as if the other were an anchor in stormy waters. Kenma feels loss when Kuroo leaves in the morning, feeling the echo of Kuroo’s touch on his skin and Kuroo’s kiss on his lips long after he’s left. His body aches, and he knows he’ll need to take something soon, but for now he wants to keep feeling the afterglow of Kuroo’s presence, even if his absence makes something pang within him.

“That guy comes around here pretty regularly huh, Ken-chan?”

Kenma looks up to see Oikawa in the doorway, looking beautiful as usual in black skinny jeans and a loose fitting teal tank top. He’s speaking in Japanese, as they always do to avoid being overheard by the brothel owner. His tone is teasing but his eyes are sharp, and Kenma sighs.

“He’s not like you think,” Kenma mutters.

Oikawa raises his eyebrows. “And what do I think he’s like?”

“A pervert who comes here buying the pretty boy because he’s got some gross kinks, probably.”

Oikawa laughs, throwing his head back. The sound is hoarse – it has been for a while now, his health on a slow decline since he came to the halfway house – but there’s real mirth there. “Blunt as ever Ken-chan. Well if he’s not a gross kinkster, what brings him to your room three nights a week? Is he a sex addict? A rich businessman with evenings to kill and no hope at love because of his demanding career? A dude who gets a power trip out of fucking trafficked men?”

Kenma wishes the joking tone in Oikawa’s voice was just that – a joke. The two of them have experienced customers like that and worse, and they both know it. Kenma sighs. “A closeted twenty-something with some sort of abuse situation going on that wants someone he can be openly gay with.”

Oikawa’s mouth falls open in shock. “Oh.”

“Sometimes we don’t even fuck,” Kenma says. He looks down to hide his pleased blush. “Sometimes… he just comes to hold me and talk.”

“I mean, I’m sure cuddling is a kink for _someone_ ,” Oikawa points out with a wry smile. “You sure he’s not getting off on it?”

Oikawa’s distrust of customers is infamous – and understandable. The prettiest man in the house, he draws the most clients -- and the most abusive ones. From where Kenma sits on the bed he can see a dusky ring of bruises around Oikawa’s neck in the shape of fingers. Ah, Kenma thinks. The hoarseness makes even more sense now. “He kisses me really gently,” Kenma whispers, and Oikawa cranes his neck to hear him better. “And he fucks me like I’m something precious. And he plays with my hair until we fall asleep. And he… he makes me calm.” He inhales. “If he gets off on the non-sexual parts of that, I don’t mind.”

“Sounds like Ken-chan’s got a crush,” Oikawa coos. His brown eyes sparkle, but the suspicious tilt of his mouth has not disappeared. “He’d better not fuck you over.”

Kenma shrugs. “Nothing I can do about if he wants to.” His heart pounds in his chest at the thought of Kuroo doing something to hurt him. He wouldn’t, would he? His breathing quickens as his mind races through the possibilities, the ways Kuroo could rip him apart and leave him alone, defenseless and destroyed. The last of his calm vanishes, and he begins to shake. “I… I need my pills.”

Oikawa cocks his head. “When’s the last time you had a fix?” Oikawa works hard to make sure the other men at the house don’t take too much of whatever they’re addicted to, when he can. He wrestles with control of his own painkiller dependency and often loses, but he likes to lead others and feel like he has an impact and monitoring everyone’s intake lets him feel important.

Kenma scratches his chin, thinking. Kuroo had come two nights in a row, and Kenma has been determined to avoid letting Kuroo see him high. “Uh, Tuesday? In the morning?” It’s Thursday now, and Kenma’s skin is beginning to crawl with need.

“Oh man no wonder. How’d you last that long?” Oikawa asks.

“Kuroo,” Kenma says simply, standing and going to the bedside table. Pulling out the case of tablets Washijou had given him on Monday, he counts out a dose he knows Oikawa will approve of and swallows them down dry.

Oikawa tuts. “Water, Ken-chan, you’ll burn your cute little throat.” He steps out of the room for a few moments, and then returns carrying a water bottle. He tosses it to Kenma, who barely catches it with shaky hands. Kenma gulps down its contents greedily while Oikawa watches. “So is Kuroo his name?”

Kenma swallows the last of the water and nods. “He’s… good. Not like in the sex way, but in the people way.”

“Well for your sake I hope he’s good in the sex way, considering how much he buys you,” Oikawa says with a laugh. Kenma rolls his eyes, but says nothing. “Well, I can’t say I don’t trust your judgment, Ken-chan, but I’ll be keeping an eye on him.” Kenma sighs, but doesn’t protest, knowing Oikawa only has his best interests at heart. Instead, he pulls out the game console Kuroo gave him and plays until the edge of need is gone.

Oikawa does keep an eye on Kuroo after that, making a point to be in the hallways whenever he comes and goes, and it’s not long until Kuroo notices.

“That guy with the fancy brown hair always looks like he wants to remove my head from my body whenever I come here,” he comments one night after walking in. He’s tired, and came more for comfort than for sex.

“He may or may not think you’re playing me somehow,” Kenma says, leading Kuroo back to the bed. He watches Kuroo carefully to see how he reacts to his words, and relaxes when Kuroo shows no traces of guilt. “He gets defensive of the people here, but especially me.”

“That’s sweet of him, I guess. Although it doesn’t make him less scary.” Kuroo lies back on the bed and tugs Kenma down with him, pulling him towards his chest. Kenma allows himself to be directed, and lands with his back pressed to Kuroo’s chest. He’d skipped his pills today, knowing Kuroo might come, and his whole body aches with need. Internally, he hopes Kuroo wants to fuck today, just to help take the edge off.

“If you want him to like you, just bring him milk bread,” Kenma says quietly. He shifts a little so his ass is pressed against Kuroo’s length, and moves up and down slightly. “But never mind him, how are you?” Withdrawal makes him impatient for a distraction, and he sighs in relief when Kuroo seems to pick up on his intentions. Strong arms wrap around him, and deft fingers begin to strip him of his clothes.

“Eager are we?” Kuroo teases. Kenma can’t even bring himself to protest, instead flipping over to capture Kuroo’s mouth in a kiss. He wastes no time pressing his tongue into Kuroo’s mouth and grinding up against him. Kuroo chuckles low in his throat and flips them, pressing a palm between Kenma’s legs as he settles himself between his thighs.

“I’m going to take really good care of you, ok?” Kuroo looks down at him with burning amber eyes, and Kenma can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine.

“Please,” Kenma breathes. “I want you so much.” The truth is stuck at the back of his throat -- that he needs Kuroo as much as he wants him -- but he’s not willing to admit that just yet. Right now, he just wants to focus on Kuroo and try and earn some of the calm that Kuroo always brings him. He’s shaking a little and his skin is clammy, and he knows he’ll start crying soon if he doesn’t get either sex or pills.

“I’m yours,” Kuroo says, and Kenma groans with relief as Kuroo pulls his pants down and takes him into his mouth. He wishes desperately that Kuroo’s words are true -- that Kuroo can be his and only his, but his anxiety riddled brain supplies that he’s only a prostitute, here for Kuroo’s comfort and nothing more. Kenma’s breathing grows shorter, and he bites his lip to hold back tears. He closes his eyes and does his best to focus on Kuroo’s mouth, feeling the pleasure that radiates from between his legs into the base of his spine as Kuroo sucks and licks at him with abandon. At the very least he has the guarantee of this physical form of intimacy between them. He knows Kuroo wouldn’t be here if he’d been able to be out and with men normally. Even if he’s here out of necessity, here he is still Kenma’s and Kenma’s alone. If only he wasn’t here out of need.

Tetsurou swallows everything down as Kenma finishes, and pulls off with a wet sound. He looks up at Kenma, and pauses as he realizes that Kenma looks more pained than pleased. Worry creases his brow, and he hauls himself into a sitting position to get a better look. “Kenma… what’s wrong?”

Kenma takes a deep breath, and Tetsurou’s heart drops as he realizes it’s ragged. “Did you mean it when you said that?” Kenma’s voice is small, and Kuroo suddenly feels very small as well.

“Mean what?”

“That… you’re mine?”

Tetsurou’s face softens, and he gives a soft “ah” of understanding. He adjusts his position and lies down next to Kenma, pulling him into his arms. He notes that Kenma’s skin is cold and clammy, and reaches down to pull the sheets over them both.

“I am,” Tetsurou whispers into Kenma’s hair. “This might be wrong, but I really am yours. I… don’t care about anyone like I care about you.” Tetsurou pulls one hand away to run his fingers through his hair, nervous. “I know you are just providing me with a service, but… to me you’re so much more than that. You give me so much more than sex, and I feel so much more than I have ever before when I’m with you. My heart belongs to you, Kenma.”

“Even though I’m disgusting?” Kenma’s voice breaks into a sob, and he begins to quake in earnest. Tetsurou holds on all the tighter.

“You aren’t disgusting. There’s nothing disgusting about being a sex worker.”

“What about being an addict?” Kenma shoots back, his voice bitter. Tetsurou pauses. He knows that this is in fact a halfway house, but he’d always assumed it was a front for the brothel. He’d never seen Kenma showing signs of drug abuse before, but now the trembling and sweating and anxiety all make a lot of sense. “I’m so awful even my parents didn’t want me around anymore.”

“I’m not your parents,” Tetsurou reminds him gently. “And addiction is an illness just like any other. It’s hard, but it’s not disgusting. It’s just something you have to fight.” He rubs a hand over Kenma’s shaky shoulder. “Kenma, are you in withdrawal?”

Kenma nods miserably. “I… try not to be high when you come. So I can enjoy my time with you.”

“Do you want to take something now?” Tetsurou asks.

“No!” Kenma jolts, and his eyes squeeze shut. “I don’t want you to see me like that.”

“I don’t want to see you like this either.” Tetsurou takes a deep breath. “I just want you to feel okay.”

“Drugs don’t make me feel okay,” Kenma rasps. “They make me feel nothing. That’s why I started taking them.”

“What… what can I do?”

“Can you just hold me please?”

Tetsurou pulls Kenma close to his chest, and Kenma nuzzles his head up against his heart. Tetsurou worries that maybe Kenma can hear how it’s pounding, how there is fear and sorrow and affection there. He doesn’t want Kenma to have to deal with any of his feelings right now. He just wants Kenma to feel cared for. He wants Kenma to feel loved.

They stay like that until Kenma can’t take it any longer. His head bowed in shame, he sends Kuroo away and swallows his pills dry. Part of him hopes they burn his throat. Oikawa steps in a few minutes later, carrying a fluffy blanket and a bottle of water. There’s a bruise on his face and his wrists are rubbed raw, but there’s no concern for self in the way he carries himself. He doesn’t value himself very highly either, Kenma thinks as Oikawa drips blood on the blanket as he tucks Kenma in, red welling at a bite mark at the base of his neck. He does everything he can to make everyone around him work at their best, but inside he’s breaking. Still, he’s better than Kenma, who only can think of himself and is still ruined inside. His mind turns to Kuroo as he drifts to sleep, and the way Kuroo pledged himself to him. A dark part of him whispers that it’s a lie, that he’ll never deserve Kuroo’s love. Part of him hopes that perhaps he can, some day. Another reminds him that deserving of reciprocation or not, his own feelings for Kuroo are undeniable now. The warmth of them mixes with the calm of high, and he falls into an uneasy slumber.

The next day, Tetsurou brings Oikawa milk bread, and there’s a look of understanding that passes between them. He looks Oikawa over, and then reaches back into his backpack to pull out the first aid kit he always carries, a leftover habit from being the captain of an injury-prone volleyball team. He hands Oikawa a tube of disinfectant salve and some alcohol pads.

“The pads will sting, but if you use them with the salve you won’t get those infected,” he says, gesturing with his chin at the bites on Oikawa’s neck.

Oikawa’s mouth twists into a wry smile. “Kenma was right. You are good.” He looks down at the packages in his hands, and then back at Tetsurou. “But I’m going to keep my eye on you. You still don’t deserve him.”

“I know,” Tetsurou says with a soft smile. “Thanks for looking out for him.”

“Boo, you’re supposed to be intimidated,” Oikawa pouts, and Tetsurou laughs.

“It’s hard to be afraid of someone I can befriend with milk bread.” Tetsurou ignores Oikawa’s indignant squawk and enters into Kenma’s room. He does so carefully, the events of the previous night weighing heavily on his mind.  

“Hey,” he says, closing the door behind him. Kenma is curled up on the bed, wrapped in a big teal blanket that looks very soft. Tetsurou hasn’t seen it before, and he gets the feeling Oikawa had something to do with its presence. He makes a mental note to buy a blanket for Kenma so Oikawa doesn’t have to give up his own. Kenma doesn’t move, and Tetsurou pauses. He’s acutely aware of that Kenma sent him away last night, and he’s not sure if he’s supposed to be here. He wants badly to make sure Kenma is okay, to hold Kenma and take all of his problems away, but he’s afraid of overstepping his bounds.

“Kenma?” Tetsurou says after a few moments of silence. His voice is small. “Can I… Can I sit down?”

Kenma is still for a moment, and then he nods. Tetsurou moves to sit down on the bed, making sure he leaves a few inches between them. “Can I touch you?” he asks. He pauses, thinks of where they are, and then amends. “Not sexually.”

Another nod. Tetsurou reaches out a hand and places it on Kenma’s shoulder. Hesitation, and then he begins to rub gentle circles into Kenma’s back. Kenma makes soft sounds of contentment and leans into Tetsurou’s touch. They stay like this for a few more minutes, and then Kenma turns over and burrows his head into Tetsurou’s lap. Thin arms snake out from under the blanket and wrap around Tetsurou’s waist, tugging him closer. Tetsurou exhales and smiles softly, carding his fingers through Kenma’s hair.

“I gave Oikawa the milk bread,” he says after a long while. Kenma looks up at him, eyes puffy with unshed tears and sleep deprivation.

“He deserves a treat,” Kenma murmurs. Tetsurou thinks to the injuries that dotted Oikawa’s body, and nods. “Thank you.”

“Do you want anything?” Tetsurou asks, gazing down at Kenma’s face. He looks very small, and it brings out something protective in Tetsurou. He leans forward and hunches his shoulders, as if he could use his body to protect him.

“You,” Kenma breathes after a few seconds.

“You have me,” Tetsurou assures him. Kenma looks at him dubiously, and Tetsurou bends at the waist to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Seriously.”

Kenma sits up with a grunt and tucks himself into Tetsurou’s lap, pulling Tetsurou’s arms around him so they’re wrapped tightly together. “So you don’t… think I’m awful?”

Tetsurou recoils in surprise. “What? No. How could I think you’re awful?”

“Because I’m a gross addict,” Kenma rasps. He extricates an arm from where it’s tangled beneath Tetsurou’s to drag the back of his hand across his eyes. “I made you leave and denied you service that you paid for last night.”

“Kenma, you should know by now that I don’t see this as a matter of service,” Tetsurou tells him, his voice gentle.

“Should I?” Kenma asks. He’s begun to shake again, and his breathing is ragged. “That’s what I’m here for, right? That’s what they make me do? Service with my body? With the rest of me?”

“Wait, make you?” Tetsurou feels his heart turn to ice. “You… you didn’t chose to do this? To be here?”

Kenma laughs bitterly. “This isn’t some sort of front for a voluntary prostitution ring,” he says. He pauses and bites his lip. A tear drips down his cheek, and Tetsurou has to stop himself from wiping it away. Everywhere he’s touching Kenma suddenly feels very, very wrong. “Oikawa calls it trafficking. I don’t know what I call it. I only know that I wasn’t given a choice.”

Tetsurou flinches away from Kenma, yanking his limbs away. He feels numb with incredulity and guilt. Really, if he thinks about it, he should have known. A halfway house, backroom deals, cash only payments. “You… have I been taking advantage of you this whole time?” Tetsurou puts a hand to his mouth, tears threatening at the corner of his eyes. He’s been hurting Kenma. He’s been _using_ Kenma. All because he couldn’t deal with something he’d been putting up with for years. “Oh my god. Oh, oh _god_.”

Kenma grabs his shirt and pulls him back, so they’re looking face to face. Both their eyes are wet with tears. “It was never bad, when it was you. I would… I would have done it even if I’d had a choice.” He thinks back to the first night, where Kuroo had come to him scared and vulnerable and shown him affection and kindness like nothing he’d ever known. He thinks about how Kuroo has cared for him, with sweet words and gentle sex and tender moments of casual intimacy. He thinks of how scared he gets that Kuroo might realize how repulsive he is and leave him totally alone to be fucked senseless by faceless men who don’t care about him or his story or even his name. “If I could leave this place right now, I would do it with you.” He pauses, insecurity running high even now. “If you would have me.”

“Let’s get you out then,” Tetsurou says. If he can get Kenma out, he can make up for all the wrong he’s done here. And if Kenma doesn’t want him anymore, at least he will have repaid the debt he owes Kenma for letting this go on so long. For letting him indulge his desires and feelings so selfishly.

Kenma is torn between snorting derisively and bursting into joyful tears. On the one hand, what Kuroo is proposing is impossible. On the other, it’s the first time anyone other than Oikawa has shown any level of dedication to his well-being. He settles for a long sigh. “It’s not like I can just leave. I was technically sentenced to this.” He rubs his face with his palms. “I can’t just… leave. And you can’t just take me. They’ll come after me if I go with you. You could get hurt.” Kenma pauses, and then remembers concern for self is supposed to be normal. “We could both be hurt.”

“My dad is a district attorney, if he knew about this…”

“You say that as if he can find out about this,” Kenma points out, not unkindly. He runs his fingers over Kuroo’s wrists, remembering the bruises he’d found there all those weeks ago. Remembers trembling with rage when he found out who had given them to him. Remembers crying about his own shitty parents and how they, too, had driven him to the bottom, to addiction and self-hatred.

Tetsurou’s mouth falls shut, and he rubs his palm across his eyes. It comes away wet, and he sighs. “Right.” He looks down at Kenma, and holds his arms out. Kenma curls back up in Tetsurou’s lap, and Kuroo stoops to press a kiss to Kenma’s mouth. “But I can’t leave you like this. Not when you want to get out.” He takes a breath. “Not when you mean so much to me.”

“I have nowhere to go,” Kenma whispers. “Even if I get out, I can’t go home.” A sob rises in his throat, and he lets it take him for a moment. “My parents had me arrested for a couple pills they found because they didn’t know how to deal with their anxious son dropping out of college and having no path in life. My whole family thinks I’m a disgrace. I have nothing.” He looks up at Kuroo, pleading in his eyes. “Please don’t do anything rash.” Kuroo seems hesitant, so Kenma grabs his arm and squeezes. “ _Please_.”

“Man we both have shit luck with parents don’t we?” Kuroo asks, stroking his fingers through Kenma’s hair. “But okay. I’ll be careful. But you can’t expect me to just leave you here when I know you’re suffering, okay? You’re too important.”

No one has ever called Kenma important before, and his heart pounds in his chest as he considers the word. Important. He presses his face against Kuroo’s chest and inhales, taking in his familiar smell and the warmth of his body. Security. Kuroo, his rock and safe place, thinks he’s important. Hearing those words out loud has grounded him, and even his anxiety can’t take them away entirely anymore.

“Okay,” Kenma says, hopeful. For Kuroo, for the way Kuroo makes him feel, it’s worth it to hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trans girl Tsukki has always been a big headcanon of mine, so here she is! Keep an eye on both her and Oikawa, they both have major roles to play going forwards. 
> 
> Thanks for reading so far! Please comment and tell me what you think -- I live off feedback! I have a lot of things planned for this fic, and I want to make sure I'm making my readers happy every step of the way.


	3. Hit me where it hurts (I'm coming home to lose)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter: 
> 
> Smut, mentions of drug use, mentions of anxiety, depictions of abuse and violence, homophobia. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, please proceed with caution!
> 
> And yes, I am still pulling chapter titles from the lyrics of "Lost Kitten"

Tetsurou spends the next week doing research. It’s frustratingly unclear what he can do to help Kenma if he doesn’t want to get the FBI and Department of Justice involved, which he’s pretty sure falls under “doing something rash.” He’s determined to respect Kenma’s wishes and try to keep this as quiet as possible, if only to ensure that Kenma doesn’t suffer any consequences for his actions. However, he also is determined to make sure Kenma gets out. The issue is there doesn’t seem to be a way to do both. He even goes so far as to consult Tsukishima, who is sarcastic as ever as he bombards her with questions to ask her lawyer parents. He tells her it’s all for a class, but he knows she’s a little suspicious of his motives. However, instead of questioning, she sits online and complains with him about the corruption of the legal system, her responses filling their chat window. It’s nice to have someone else to talk to about his frustrations with the law, even if Tsukki has no idea why he’s so upset. Of course, Kuroo thinks bitterly, the system that screwed Kenma offers no easy solution to free him.

Tetsurou slams his laptop shut and leans back in his chair with a sigh. He runs his fingers through his hair, which is even more unkempt than usual. He has neglected self-care this week, pushing himself to get his school work done and investigate on Kenma’s behalf at the expense of sleeping and eating properly. He looks over at the trash can that sits by his desk and wrinkles his nose at the number of cup ramen containers it holds. He stands up and walks over to his bed and flops down onto it with a muffled groan. He has to do something before this drives him nuts. 

Reaching into the pocket of his pants, he pulls out his cell phone. From what he can tell, the police might be able to do something without involving the federal government. He’s loathe to trust the law enforcement system that sentenced Kenma to the halfway house, but he feels helpless to do anything else. He just can’t let the blame fall onto Kenma in any way. Taking a deep breath, he dials and brings the phone to his ear. 

“Hello? I’d like to report a crime.”

 

The week has passed slowly for Kenma, and he’s beginning to get restless. Kuroo had only visited him once, and he’d been more tense than usual. Kenma had done his best to calm him down, but the experience had been tiring for them both. It’s obvious to Kenma that Kuroo hasn’t been taking very good care of himself, and Kenma can’t help but worry about what goes on in Kuroo’s life when he can’t see him. It’s an odd sensation, worrying about the well-being of others when his own is so tenuous, but he decides that he likes the feeling. Not only does it get him out of his own head, but it lets him think about Kuroo, which always makes him feel good. 

It’s these good thoughts of Kuroo that Kenma tries to focus on as the warden summons them all out into the hallway, rage in his eyes and murder in his posture. Kenma shuffles to situate himself next to Oikawa, who shifts to stand in front of Kenma. His stance is protective, and Kenma feels a rush of gratitude as Oikawa reaches back to take his hand and squeeze it reassuringly. He clings to Oikawa as Washijou stalks around the hallway, locking eyes with each person gathered there. The other residents line the hallway, varying levels of fear painting their expressions.

“I need not remind you that you are all legally sentenced here, and that I have full control over whether or not the state releases you in a timely manner,” he intones in a low voice. “Trying to leverage the law over me and this place will do you no good.” He glares around, looking far more intimidating than any man of his short stature ever should. “You all know that. But since some of you seem to be testing the validity of that knowledge, I would like to reaffirm it. I control things here, not some sort of outside invisible savior. The law supports me, and I will use that support as I see fit.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bottle, holding it over his head and rattling it for everyone to hear. “As a reminder of my control here, I’ll be withdrawing this from all of you for the next four days. Anyone who knows who tried to rat us out will receive their drugs sooner. And next time I won’t be so lenient.” 

Panic curls in the depths of Kenma’s stomach. He’s sure he knows who’s responsible for this. He’s not sure if he should be grateful to Kuroo or curse him as an outcry erupts in the hallway and accusations fly as the residents try and bargain to get their drugs back. Logically he knows it should be impossible to track the call back to him, but he can’t help but worry that he’ll take the fall anyhow. He clings to Oikawa’s hand all the more as his mind begins to race and his breathing quickens. He’s not sure how he’s going to manage this level of paranoia without drugs, and he’s sure he’s already heard his name mentioned in the flurry of accusations that fill the hallway. Oikawa, apparently sensing his distress, tugs on his hand and leads him back to his room, closing the door behind him.

“It was Kuroo, wasn’t it?” he asks in a low voice after checking that no one was listening behind the door. Kenma nods miserably. 

Oikawa laughs, low and bitter. “His naivety would be cute if it wasn’t so dangerous.” He reaches out and tousles Kenma’s hair. Normally Kenma would brush him off, but right now the warmth of Oikawa’s hand grounds him in reality. “Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you. If the accusations come back to you, I’ll take the fall.” 

“Oikawa…”

“I’m the prettiest,” he says, flipping his hair dramatically. “Boss can’t afford to fuck me up too bad, I bring the best money.” 

Kenma’s not sure if he’s convinced by his logic, but he does not protest. There’s no point in arguing with Oikawa. He sighs and leans into Oikawa’s touch, trying to steady his breathing. Anxiety thrums in his veins and his skin crawls, so he closes his eyes and thinks of Kuroo. Kuroo, who had triggered this panic. Kuroo, who only wants the best for Kenma, even if his methods proved ineffective this time. Kuroo, who holds him and cherishes him even though he’s a prostitute and a drug addict. Slowly, he feels his breathing even out and his body settles into a more comfortable state of being. Opening his eyes, he takes a deep breath.

“Thanks, Oikawa.” 

Oikawa smiles fondly down at him. “I really need to come up with something to call you other than Kitten when you’re being cute like this.” 

Kenma wrinkles his nose. “Kenma is just fine.” 

“You don’t see yourself the way I do, Ken-chan,” Oikawa tells him with a wink. “You’re a real cutie.”

“Yeah, cause most people have a real strong association between anxious drug addicted mess and the word ‘adorable’ in their minds,” Kenma deadpans. “Anyways, what’s wrong with Ken-chan?”

“Ken-chan isn’t cute enough for someone of your level of adorable,” Oikawa pouts. “And you know that you’re more than your anxiety or your addiction. Even that Kuroo guy knows there’s more to you than that, and he’s naive and incapable of wearing his hair properly.” Oikawa frowns as if personally offended. “You’d think with all that money he’s got to throw around he could pay someone to fix that atrocity on top of his head.” 

Kenma snorts. He may find Kuroo’s messy hair endearing, but there’s no ignoring that it’s a complete disaster. He opens his mouth to say as much, only to be interrupted by a knock.

“Your regular client is here for you, Kitten,” Washijou calls through the door. Kenma’s heart leaps, and Oikawa grins. 

“Have fun,” he whispers deviously. “But also knock some sense into that dense head of his.” 

Kenma rolls his eyes but nods as the door opens to reveal Kuroo. 

“I was just leaving,” Oikawa singsongs, pushing past Kuroo and Washijou both to head back to his room. Washijou looks like he wants to comment, so Kenma immediately gets to his feet and captures Kuroo’s mouth in a kiss. Washijou, apparently getting the message, backs out of the room and closes the door behind him. Kuroo leans into Kenma’s mouth eagerly, wrapping his fingers in Kenma’s hair and pulling them even closer together. Kenma closes his eyes and allows himself to relax into Kuroo’s touch, willing to forget his predicament in favor of the comfort Kuroo offered. Kuroo makes a contented sound deep in his throat and wraps one arm around Kenma’s waist. He pulls Kenma close and holds him tight, and their kiss grows desperate.

“God, I’m so glad you’re okay,” Kuroo whispers, pulling away and leaning his forehead against Kenma’s. Kenma can feel Kuroo’s breath on his face and the warmth of his body against his own. He does his best to focus on that as he remembers his fear from earlier, and he shifts forward to wrap his arms around Kuroo and bury his face in his shirt. 

“I thought I said don’t do anything rash,” Kenma says in a small voice. He can feel Kuroo flinch beneath him, and then the movement of his chest as he heaves a sigh. A warm hand snakes down to hook beneath his chin and tilt it gently upward, bringing his eyes up to meet Kuroo’s.

“I’m sorry,” Kuroo says. His eyebrows are drawn up in remorse, and a frown tugs at the corners of his lips. He speaks in a low voice, barely loud enough for Kenma to hear. “I really did try to help. I did all the research I could, I asked Tsukki what resources she knew of…” he trails off and turns his face away so Kenma cannot see it. Kenma tightens his grip around Kuroo’s waist, not willing to lose his proximity to Kuroo while he’s so close to panic. “And when I finally decided calling the cops might be the best option, they fucking told me there was nothing they could do about it.” He laughs bitterly. “I reported a prostitution ring and they told me there’s nothing they could do about it. Not even an investigation. What bullshit.” 

Kenma blinks. He’s never heard Kuroo swear before, and he doesn’t like the sound of it. His anxiety falls away as he considers Kuroo’s indignity at Kenma’s situation. Kuroo cares about him like no one else does, he thinks as he takes in the frustrated tone of Kuroo’s voice and the protective stance of his body. He’s known if for a long time, but it hits him every now and again that he’s truly lucky to have Kuroo. 

“I… I’m sorry this didn’t work. And I’m sorry if something happens to you because of it,” Kuroo tells him. Kenma feels something wet on his forehead, and realizes that a tear has dripped off of Kuroo’s cheek onto his face. Kenma leaves it there, not wanting to disturb Kuroo with any sudden movements. “God it makes me mad feeling like I can’t do anything for you. But I… I’m not giving up on you. We’ll have to wait some more time for me to figure something else out, but I’m not leaving you here.” He looks down at Kenma, his eyes brimming with tears and a pleading expression on his face. “Just… please be patient with me.” 

Kenma is tempted to point out that he doesn’t really have another choice, but he can’t bring himself to be sarcastic in the face of Kuroo’s sincerity. He smiles and leans up to press a kiss to Kuroo’s face, feeling the wetness of his tears under his lips. “Thank you,” he tells Kuroo between gentle kisses. “For all that you do for me… thank you.” 

“Anything for you,” Kuroo whispers. He ducks his head and tucks his head in the crook of Kenma’s shoulder, and Kenma reaches up to stroke his hair gently. He smiles faintly as he notes the absolute mess that tops Kuroo’s head, and tries to flatten it a bit as he comforts him to no avail. 

“Let’s lie down,” Kenma says, tugging gently on Kuroo’s waist. He knows leaning over isn’t comfortable for Kuroo’s back, and he’s in the mood to cuddle anyways. Kuroo allows himself to be led without protest. They settle down onto the mattress and nestle themselves into the indent they’ve left in it, caused by many hours of lying tangled together in a desperate attempt to get as close as possible before Kuroo has to return to the outside world. Kenma tucks his head under Kuroo’s chin and inhales the scent of his skin as he wraps his arms around Kuroo’s waist and holds him close. 

“When the police said they couldn’t do something, I was so scared that I’d come back and find out something had happened to you,” Kuroo whispers as he snakes an arm around Kenma. “I… I think that they might have something to do with you being here.” 

“They do.” There’s no trace of doubt in Kenma’s voice. The police had been all too eager to arrest him, a first time offender with a handful of painkillers he’d bought online stashed in his sock drawer, the judge’s voice too sweet when he’d sentenced him to a year of rehabilitation. “I don’t know what, but I know they do.” 

“I’d suspected, but I didn’t want to believe it,” Kuroo says with a sigh. Kuroo is too good to be wrapped up in something like this, Kenma thinks. For all the abuse he’s suffered, Kuroo still sees good in people. Kenma hopes that he doesn’t lose that trying to free him. He tightens his grip on Kuroo in an attempt to comfort him, but the attempt feels futile. He knows if he looks up, Kuroo will still be frowning. After the day he’s had, all Kenma wants is to see Kuroo smile. 

Well, he supposes there is one way he knows how to do that. With a mischievous smirk, Kenma nudges his fingers under Kuroo’s shirt. At first he just lightly brushes the skin there, feeling its warmth and smoothness and enjoying how Kuroo shivers under his touch. It’s tempting to go a more sexual route as he feels the hard planes of Kuroo’s muscles under his fingers, but that doesn’t guarantee him the smile he wants. 

Kenma pauses, allowing Kuroo to relax for just a moment, and then strikes. His fingers wriggle across Kuroo’s ribcage and up towards his underarms without warning, and Kuroo barks a startled laugh. That sound is much nicer than swear words, Kenma thinks, and he doubles down on his assault. Kuroo dissolves into helpless giggles, writhing under Kenma’s touch in an attempt to escape. Having none of that, Kenma wraps his legs around Kuroo and draws him closer, giving him no mode of exit. He looks up to take in the fruits of his labor, and sure enough Kuroo’s face is split with a massive grin. The sight of it makes Kenma’s heart soar, and he pauses for a moment to take it in. 

Kuroo, sensing the drop in Kenma’s defenses, takes the opportunity to launch a counter-attack, snaking his fingers under Kenma’s shirt and tickling ruthlessly. Kenma considers himself the master of maintaining a dead expression, but he can only hold out so long in the face of Kuroo’s efforts. Kenma may be the master of neutrality, but it appears that Kuroo is the master of tickles. Kenma snorts, then laughs, and then gives in to a full blown giggle. Kuroo, grinning his triumph, flips them over and pushes Kenma onto his back, pinning his hips down with his own to give his torso full range of movement. 

“You should know better than to try and beat  _ me _ in a tickle war,” Kuroo informs him gravely, placing his hands on his hips and looking down at Kenma. Kenma reaches his arms up in response and goes for Kuroo’s ribs. Kuroo, having none of this, leans forward and quickly pins Kenma’s arms above his head with one hand. With the other he reaches down and begins to tickle Kenma’s belly. They continue like this until Kenma is red faced and out of breath and Kuroo has also given in to laughter, the sound of their merriment filling the small room. Kenma feels no worry anymore, only happiness, and he pulls Kuroo down to lay on top of him as he basks in the afterglow of their silliness. 

Kuroo props himself on his elbows on either side of Kenma’s face and leans down to press a kiss to the tip of Kenma’s nose. “Thanks, I needed that.” 

Kenma smiles and reaches up to kiss his lips. “We both did, I think.”

“You always make me feel better,” Kuroo says, shifting so his head is pillowed in the crook of Kenma’s neck. Kenma feels his body rubbing against his own, and his face grows red as he realizes that laughter wasn’t the only reaction Kuroo had brought out of him during the tickle fight. I have sex on a daily basis, Kenma thinks. I can do this smoothly. 

“I bet I could make you feel even better,” he intones in a low voice, rolling his hips upward. He knows it sounds stupid as soon as it passes his lips, and he accepts his fate as Kuroo snorts with laughter in response. 

“If you want me to fuck you you could just ask,” he says. “Tonight is all about you, Kenma.” He pauses, then smiles. “ _ I’m _ all about you.”

“Are we trying to one up one another with bad lines?” Kenma asks, even though the sentiment of Kuroo’s words makes his heart warm. Kuroo rolls his eyes, but kisses him instead of trying to come up with a properly witty response. As Kuroo adjusts so their hips are pressed together and begins to grind down, Kenma decides that he prefers this to wit anyways. 

They dispose of their shirts quickly and begin to kiss deeply, hands roaming bare skin and tangling in hair as they work to grow ever closer to one another. Their hips press desperately against one another, seeking any sort of friction that might bring them closer to the edge. Kuroo breaks away from Kenma’s mouth to kiss all over his face and then down the column of his neck. Kenma tilts his head back, baring his throat as Kuroo’s lips press against his skin with such tenderness it feels like adoration, relishing the ability to be vulnerable without fear. 

He closes his eyes as Kuroo lays him bare and begins to work him open, pausing briefly to retrieve the necessary supplies from the bedside table. His breathing quickens as Kuroo brushes the sensitive part within him, but it’s a different kind of pace than the anxious gasps he takes when anxiety holds him or he’s with other clients. Only with Kuroo is the pounding of his heart something that makes his heart clench with good feeling, the speed of his breathing something that makes him expect something good. And when Kuroo takes him into his hand and begins to stroke him, he comes undone with words that are only for Kuroo -- praise and affections Kenma cannot share with anyone else. 

Kuroo slides into him with a rush of feeling and a sharp intake of breath. Kenma coos praise as he begins to move, overcome by the need to share his feelings openly and see their effect in real time. He’d never been very expressive before Kuroo, and even now he knows his words do not convey everything he feels properly. He’s frustrated by the limits of his own words and social finesse, and in the past that kept him panicky and silent. With Kuroo, however, he knows that he will be understood even when words fail. The promise of understanding draws him out of his shell, and he is vocal and physically responsive as Kuroo works him towards climax, feeling the intimacy not only of their physical closeness but of the emotions that they both express along with it. He crosses the edge with a gasp and fingernails dug into Kuroo’s back, and Kuroo seals his mouth with a kiss and a silent assurance of security and trust. It’s that trust that Kenma clings to as Kuroo pulls out of him, leaving him prone and alone while Kuroo pulls off his condom and disposes of it. And when Kuroo returns, he clings to the real thing, knowing Kuroo will not leave him alone and insecure. 

They lie in comfortable silence for a long time, drifting in and out of slumber in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets. They’re sticky with sweat and the sheets are damp, but they can’t bring themselves to care. Even the sound of a knock on the door is barely enough to rouse them, and it’s not until Oikawa pokes his head into their room that Kuroo deigns to lift his head from the pillow.

“Aw, cute, you guys  _ do _ cuddle,” Oikawa coos. Kenma rolls his eyes but does not move. Kuroo, apparently embarrassed by his state of undress, scrambles to pull a sheet over himself and sit up. Oikawa laughs. “With the work I do here it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” His smile turns devious, and he raises his eyebrows. “Although I must admit I’m impressed. I had no idea you were so…  _ athletic _ .”

“Mine,” Kenma mumbles, half asleep, while Kuroo turns bright red. Kenma shifts so he’s pressed against Kuroo once more and wraps his arms around him.

Oikawa chuckles. “Yeah yeah, I know. But your boo is gonna have to hightail it soon, Washijou is doing rounds to talk to everyone about what they know about the police call.”

Kenma goes rigid, and Kuroo’s posture instantly curls defensively around Kenma. 

“It’s no biggie, just act nervous and quiet like you always do and he’ll assume you would be too scared to do anything,” Oikawa assures Kenma. He then turns to Kuroo. “You, sir, are an idiot. A hot idiot, but an idiot. Don’t pull shit like this again until you have a more solid plan, hm? I won’t have you running around risking my Ken-chan with your heroism.”

Tetsurou nods solemnly, guilt pooling in his chest.. “I… I just want what’s best for him. I’m sorry for messing it up.” 

“God, why do you make it so hard for me to hate you?” Oikawa whines, crossing his arms across his chest. “Antagonizing you would be so much easier if you were a dick.”

“I’ll be sure to work on that,” Tetsurou drawls. “But in all seriousness, I do just want to make sure he’s okay. You’ll help me with that, right?”

“I’ve been taking care of Ken-chan far longer than you have, lover boy,” Oikawa informs him, shifting his hands to place them on his hips. Tetsurou, instead of looking perturbed, smiles. 

“Good, then I know he’s in good hands.” Tetsurou looks down at Kenma and nudges him. “C’mon Kenma, we’ve gotta get up.”

“Don’t wanna,” Kenma grumbles, curling up into a ball at Tetsurou’s side. The name Kitten seems very apt when Kenma gets like this, and Tetsurou is loathe to move him. However, he knows that he needs to leave to make sure Kenma is safe, so he peels back the covers and shakes Kenma until he sits up. Kuroo feels an inexplicable tenderness as he watches Kenma scrub the sleep from his eyes and stretch his arms out in a wide yawn, and he catches himself staring with a faint smile. From the corner of his eye he can see Oikawa mocking him with exaggerated facial expressions and kissy faces. He rolls his eyes and decides to ignore him as he stands and pulls his clothes back on, ignoring how they feel tacky against his sweat-damp skin. 

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” Tetsurou whispers when fully dressed, leaning down to where Kenma still sits in bed. Kenma nods and tilts his head up for a kiss, which Tetsurou gives energetically. “Be safe.”

Kenma nods, and Tetsurou steals one last kiss before turning and exiting the room. Oikawa stands in the doorway, and his hand brushes Tetsurou’s as he walks by. He feels the crinkle of paper between his fingers, and instinctively he grabs hold of whatever it is Oikawa has given him. 

“For emergencies,” Oikawa whispers in his ear as Tetsurou glances down at the slip of paper. A phone number is scrawled across its surface, adorned with stars and a what looked like a tiny ufo. “If you need to talk to him, call me. I can’t always make it work, but I know he’s happier when he talks to you. If you can’t make it for a while, or if you want to pull shit like this again, call him.”

Tetsurou feels a rush of gratitude towards Oikawa, and gives him a solemn nod. “Take care of him for me.” Oikawa reaches over and claps him on the back. It stings a little when his hand falls away.

“I should be saying that to you,” he says, sticking out his tongue. His expression reverts to seriousness almost frighteningly fast, and Tetsurou shivers. “But don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to Ken-chan. He deserves better than this shitty place.”

“We can agree on that at least,” Tetsurou says with a sigh. “Thanks, Oikawa.” 

The walk home feels cold and lonely, and he knows it’s more than just the chill of October weather. He wants Kenma to be able to come home with him, to get into bed with him at night and wake up with him in the morning. He just doesn’t know how to make it happen.

He’s so preoccupied by these thoughts that he doesn’t notice that his door is open as he turns the knob to get into his apartment. It’s not until he hears a shift in the kitchen that he realizes something might be wrong, and he freezes in the doorway. There’s no sign of breaking in, which can only mean one thing. His father is here. 

Tetsurou backs up slowly, praying his father did not hear him enter. He’s almost through the door when his father’s silhouette appears in the doorway of the kitchen. He’s still in his work clothes, his black suit and slicked back hair adding to his intimidating aura. Tetsurou swears under his breath and briefly considers fleeing, but he knows that would only be prolonging the inevitable. Plastering his best saccharine smile to his face, he turns to face his father with his heart pounding in his throat. 

“Hey dad,” Tetsurou chirps with false cheer, fighting to keep his body from trembling. He hasn’t seen his father in several weeks, having convinced him that he’s been keeping company with girls and traveling on the weekends. It’s been so long Tetsurou had almost forgotten the sheer terror of being in his father’s presence. Almost. 

His father’s face twists into a scowl, and he advances towards Tetsurou without a word. Tetsurou scrambles back, desperate to put space between him, but he’s not fast enough to avoid his father’s fist as it connects with his jaw. His pained cry is stifled by the slamming of his front door, and he staggers back to try and evade the next blow. Pain makes dodging difficult, and knuckles connect with his cheekbone and slide up into the tender flesh of his eye socket. Tetsurou throws his hands up in front of his face and tries to ignore the tears that have begun to drip down his face, taken completely by survival instinct. By some miracle he manages to block or dodge the next three hits until his father sends a blow directly to his stomach. He doubles over in pain, and his father takes the opportunity to knock him onto the floor. 

Tetsurou’s father looms over him with crossed arms and a dangerous expression on his face. “You have a lot to answer for son,” he informs him gravely. Tetsurou knows better than to ask what he’s talking about, knowing he’s about to be regaled with all his latest failings. He’d learned long ago that backtalk was too dangerous with his father. “What the fuck were you doing calling the police about a prostitution ring? A  _ male _ prostitution ring?” 

Tetsurou gapes at him. How had he known about that? “I’m the district attorney. I know everyone and every _ thing _ that goes on with the law in this city, Tetsurou. I have a hand in  _ everything _ around here.”

Tetsurou stares up at him in shock. He’d suspected, but he’d never wanted to believe his father might have had something to do with Kenma’s situation, but he’d never wanted to believe that his own family would have had something to do with Kenma’s suffering. Any flight instincts he had are gone, replaced by numb incredulity as he tries to process what he’s just learned. His father had a hand in the halfway house. His  _ father _ contributed to Kenma’s hell. His father isn’t just part of the system, he’s part of what’s wrong with it. Guilt churns in Tetsurou’s stomach. How is he supposed to face Kenma when his own family had helped ruin Kenma’s life? 

A swift kick to the ribs breaks Tetsurou out of his reverie, and he whimpers as he hears a dull crack. “Why the fuck do you know about that ring, huh?” Tetsurou’s father demands. Another kick, this time to the chest, but thankfully the sound is only of flesh on flesh. “You’d better not be fucking any boys. My son is  _ not _ gay.” He punctuates the last statement with another kick, and Tetsurou begins to sob. His voice is caught in his throat, and he couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. “And you better not be one of those high minded idealists who think they can change the world. That’s not how it works, so get used to it. It’s not worth putting time into those human scumbags. Even if they were worth saving, you wouldn’t be able to, so just give it up.” 

Not worth saving? Tetsurou thinks of Kenma and his sharp mind and soft smile, of Oikawa and his snark and fierce protectiveness, of all the faces he’s seen in the halfway house in the weeks he’s been visiting. His heart clenches at the thought of abandoning them. If they’re not worth saving, he’s not sure who is. He glares up at his father defiantly and opens his mouth to speak, only to be cut off by another swift strike to the torso. 

“I’ve seen your grades lately, Tetsurou,” his father informs him. Tetsurou thinks of the essays he’s left on his desk that had disappeared over the past several weeks and curses himself. He’s really dug himself deep this time. “This idealism gay bullshit needs to stop. You need to focus on being the man you’re supposed to. If you want any further financial support from me, you’d better get yourself a girlfriend, get your grades up, and stay the fuck away from the legal system. You are my son and you will act like it. And if I find out you’ve even looked at another man in the wrong way, you will face the consequences.”

Tetsurou thinks of the way Kenma looks at him, and decides that if that’s wrong he doesn’t want to be right. However, fear and survival instincts drive him, so he simply hangs his head in submission and says nothing. Guilt and terror churn within him, and he feels like he’s going to be sick. He’s shaking violently, and each ragged breath he takes sends sharp pain down his side where his father kicked him. He tastes salt on his lips, and he’s not sure if it’s blood or tears or both. Luckily, Tetsurou’s father seems to be done with him, because he steps back and pulls the door of the apartment open. “Fix this. Now.” His voice is authoritative and grave, and Tetsurou flinches away from the sounds of it.

And then he’s gone, the door slammed shut behind him. Tetsurou collapses onto the floor, clutching his chest and sobbing. He’s in pain but he can’t bring himself to care, focused instead on the racing of his mind. He’s going to be financially cut off if he doesn’t change things, but what can he change? There’s no way he can date a woman now that he knows the truth about himself, and he can’t possibly give up on trying to free Kenma. However, if he doesn’t want to be homeless soon he’s going to have to figure something out. He doesn’t really want to think about that now, though. What he really wants is to crawl into bed with Kenma and have him tell him it’s okay. He takes a deep, shaky breath and sits up. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out the piece of paper Oikawa had given him and turns it over in his hands. He wants nothing more than to hear Kenma’s voice, but worry nags at him as he considers it. He’s caused enough issues for Kenma today, and he knows Kenma’s anxiety makes his emotional states a delicate thing. He doesn’t want to be any more of a burden, especially when his own family is responsible for Kenma’s suffering. 

He hauls himself to his feet and staggers to his bedroom, where he collapses onto his bed. He winces as the force of his fall jostles his bruised ribs. He knows he should probably go to the hospital to make sure they’re not broken, but he can’t bring himself to care. His physical well-being seems like a silly thing to worry about at this point when he’s fucked up every other part of his life. Anyways, showing up at the hospital beaten black and blue would probably require he fill out some sort of police report, and that’s the last thing he needs right now. He curls up and wraps his arms around himself as sobs overtake him again. He’s terrified and lonely, but more than anything else he feels lost. Unable to help Kenma or even himself, he feels useless and weak, and he wishes he could just close his eyes and will it all away. But the fact remains that this is reality, and he’s left in pain and fear as he’s forced to wonder: what the hell is he going to do now? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo, got this done before the month mark passed! I think this is the first time I updated a fic early, so go me! *high fives self.* I hope you guys like angst, cause that's the forecast going forward. Stay tuned for how Kuroo handles everything, protective Oikawa, lovestruck Kenma, and sassy yet surprisingly helpful Tsukki. 
> 
> Please feel free to drop me a comment to tell me what you thought! And if that's not enough, you can also talk haikyuu angst with me on tumblr @bisexual-bokuto


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